Maybe the World Won't Find Us
by callida88
Summary: When her flight out of New York gets unexpectedly cancelled, Rory ends up spending 10 hours with Jess at his apartment. What could go wrong? A slow burn over the course of one night. Mutual pining and light angst galore. (Not "A Year in the Life" compliant.)


**7:00 PM**

Rory almost slipped as she ran up the rain-slicked stoop, clutching her suitcase in one hand and her purse in the other. The apartment building didn't have a doorman, but someone was leaving right as she got to the entrance and she slipped past them to escape the downpour. She pushed her wet hair out of her face and sighed, taking a look around the lobby that served as her refuge. An out of order sign hung on the decrepit looking elevator—maybe that was for the best, she would have rather lugged her suitcase up the stairwell than end up trapped in that old thing. The building wasn't grimy exactly, but it definitely looked rougher than she'd gotten used to. Although New York had different standards than D.C., and as shabby as this place seemed, with its peeling paint, dirty corners, and rusty exposed piping, it was probably a pretty great set-up.

Her footsteps echoed in the stairwell, cannon blasts disrupting the otherwise peaceful sound of the rain outside. She stopped on the second landing to catch her breath, finally setting her suitcase down next to her. Rainwater dripped from her hair down her back, inundating the already soaked material of her coat. She still hadn't let herself think too much about what was about to happen. It was the reasonable thing to do, much more reasonable than getting a hotel room for only ten hours. When she first found out her flight had been cancelled and that she'd been rebooked for one that left the next morning, Rory had briefly considered just holing up in some twenty-four hour restaurant. But doing that by herself, when she already felt drained from a full day, sounded like a disaster waiting to happen. So she'd made the call and he'd given her the address and here she was, just one flight of stairs and a trip down a hallway away from his apartment.

A clap of thunder outside faintly reached her ears. She took a deep breath, a meager attempt to steel herself, and picked her bag back up.

When she stopped in front of the door to apartment number 307 Rory knocked on it hard, determined that he wouldn't find out she was nervous. Why was she nervous? Before she could think about it too much the door swung open. Jess stood before her in dark jeans and a gray t-shirt, a wad of cash clasped in his hand. Rory eyed the money.

"Was I not clear about why I was coming over?" she asked. She laughed before adding, "Or what my line of work is?"

Jess rolled his eyes. "Hell of a way to thank me for ordering us some food, you know."

"Thank you. Just wait until Irma La Douce finds out, she'll be so jealous."

"Somebody's been watching Turner Classic Movies."

"There's not much else to do in crappy hotel rooms when you're still adjusting to a new time zone."

Jess smiled at her, stepping back to hold the door open. She brushed past him and entered the apartment. Rory's stomach flipped at the firm sound of the door latching shut—no turning back now.

It was a studio apartment, but a comfortably roomy one. They stood in what was clearly the living area, with a worn leather couch and an armchair surrounding an old trunk that was being used as a coffee table, books and mail sprawled across it. To the side Rory saw the kitchen, or what there was of a kitchen. Really it was just the one wall with counters and his appliances, but in the middle of the tiled space there was also a small wooden table, a few chairs arranged around it haphazardly. Directly past the living space stood a large bookcase, packed to the brim, giving the area some separation. Beyond that was a bed.

"It's not much," Jess said, coming to stand beside her.

"I like it," Rory said. "It's eclectic."

He made a face.

"And very New York," she added.

"Tourist," he said.

She held up the suitcase, "How astute."

They small-talked about their days thus far, about Jess drafting a new book and the luncheon she'd attended to interview New York's representatives for a piece about the fallout of a scandal that had embroiled one of their old peers. The conversation hummed along fine.

And then he grinned at her.

It was that same toothy expression that used to send a thrill through her heart, now framed by dark scruff that he didn't have the last time they'd seen each other. He'd been clean-shaven at Lorelai and Luke's anniversary party—or rather the party that Emily had thrown for Lorelai and Luke's first wedding anniversary as payback for being barred from most of the actual wedding planning. That seemed like forever ago, even though it'd only been a few months. But then, they hadn't really even gotten the chance to talk there. Rory had spent the whole night running interference between her grandmother and mom, not to mention their disparate crowds of friends who'd all been invited. It occurred to her now that maybe he'd been on his best behavior that night, that his appearance had been part of the effort. Maybe he'd wanted to put his best foot forward around her grandparents and their friends? It was a silly thought, he had no reason to want that. But still, she wondered. She wanted.

"Sorry the rain's put a damper on your trip," Jess said. "Where're you headed from here anyway?"

"Some town in northern California? The vice president's supposed to declare a new marine sanctuary off the coast and there's this whole big ceremony that I'm covering."

"I'm sure the town will just love that specificity in your article."

He was teasing, Rory knew that. His eyes were still bright and that smile still shone, and despite everything that had happened between the two of them, they'd never been anything but supportive of each other's work. Still, it stung. "It's been a long day, Jess. Obviously I'll be more specific when I write the piece."

Now the smile disappeared, replaced by a deep frown as Jess raised his hand to rub at the back of his neck. His forehead wrinkled in thought. "Yeah, yeah, of course." He just looked at her for a moment before giving his head a slight shake. "Sorry, you probably want to change out of those wet clothes, huh?" He pointed towards the back corner of the apartment. "Bathroom's back there. Do you need to borrow anything or—?"

"No, that's alright," Rory said. She hadn't meant to sound so snappy, what was wrong with her? She gestured down to her suitcase again. "The benefits of being stranded on your way to the airport, you've already got your stuff."

Jess just nodded.

"Thank you, again, for letting me stay here," she said, hoping that he could hear the apology between the lines.

"I told you on the phone it wasn't any trouble."

Rory nodded back and started to make her way to the bathroom. She just couldn't shake the thought that, when it came to the two of them, there was always trouble.

The medicine cabinet mirror in Jess's bathroom was cracked in one corner, but that didn't stop it from showing what a mess the storm had made of her. Her makeup had smudged and her hair fell in damp tendrils, plastered close to her head in more places than not. None of that bothered her nearly so much as her soaked clothing though. She rifled through her suitcase to retrieve a change of clothes. It was a gross pleasure to peel off the cold, heavy layers, hanging them over the shower rod. Water seeped out between her fingers as she clutched her sweater to bring it over her head, cold drops that she could only hope would dry out in the next several hours before she'd need to shove this all back in the suitcase and take off for the airport. Outside thunder kept rolling. From this middle-height apartment the rain sounded quieter, Rory could only hear it as it beat on the windows, but the thunder wouldn't let up. Its claps rumbled right along with the rest of the New York street noise that drifted up, honking and sirens and the thrum of daily life, even through the sudden storm.

As she pulled on her clean, and more importantly dry, change of clothes, Rory's mind stuck on that last bit. The abruptness of the storm's arrival had caused all of this. If only she'd been able to plan around it better she and Jess wouldn't have been caught in this surprise visit, trapped together like two wary animals taking shelter from the inclement weather. She grimaced at herself in the mirror. For so long she'd been able to prepare to see him, to build up those walls. It'd been years since they'd seen each other by surprise. And now, one canceled flight had changed all that.

She wished time would freeze, just long enough to write out her thoughts, to sift through them and make sense of what she was feeling. Reason eluded her in the rush of it all. She pulled her facial cleanser from the cosmetics case and set about wiping the grime of the day from her skin. If only it could remove the stupid excess of emotion that washed away all good judgment.

There under the buzzing light fixture, Rory tried to regain some composure. She looked around the room. It reminded her of the bathroom in her first suite at Yale, the cramped quarters, the smaller-than-standard tub, but with a tall ceiling and dark tile that climbed halfway up the wall. A hairdryer would have been nice, and one probably hid somewhere in the apartment, but Rory settled for combing through the tangle, working some of the moisture out along with the knots. One last glance in the mirror, she looked like she'd just gotten out of the shower, barefaced and a little waterlogged. Jess had seen worse from her, though, worse and more vulnerable. That felt like a twisted sort of gift. In some ways it made everything easier, but all too often it just seemed to complicate their already messy ties.

The rich, grease-laden smell of Chinese take-out filled the apartment when Rory came out of the bathroom. Jess stood at his table, pulling the small white boxes from a paper bag with a receipt stapled to the top. She walked over, her socked feet padding quietly on the cold floors.

"This is enough food for at least six people."

Jess shrugged. "Maybe for six sane people, but with a Gilmore around?"

Rory shook her head at him, smiling in spite of herself. Lately she'd spent so much time on the road, at functions for work, surrounded by strangers and those who she only knew through polite business relations. Only occasionally did she get the chance to be around people she could consider friends, and even with them there was always the sense of performing, playing at being put together adults. This felt so decidedly, dangerously different. There was a pleasant sort of warmth that came with being known.

**8:00 PM**

Jess's throat felt tight, looking at her smiling at him like that. He wasn't sure what had caused it, the food or the joke, probably both. It made his whole body come alive in a way that it hadn't for longer than he wanted to admit. It was too much. Never mind what the casual intimacy of her appearance was doing to him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her so relaxed, with her wet hair and bare face, wearing worn-looking sweatpants that said Yale down the leg. He swallowed thickly.

"Besides," he said, "what's the point of ordering take-out if you don't plan for leftovers?"

"I'm not arguing," Rory said.

Her wide eyes crinkled in the corners with the start of a laugh. It took an embarrassing amount of strength to look away from their bright blue depths. He turned around to get them plates, hating the clichés he was still reduced to around her, and hating the truth of them even more. It'd been one thing when they were teenagers, still humiliating but a bit less pathetic. Now it grated at him.

He thought of how Luke still checked in with him about it. In failed attempts at subtlety his uncle always just happened to mention where Rory would be before Jess committed to visiting Stars Hollow, would remind him over and over again not to feel pressured into coming to the odd Gilmore-associated event that he got invited to, like that crazy anniversary party where Luke had looked about as uncomfortable around his in-laws as Jess had felt around their pompous friends. He'd never been so happy to see the residents of Stars Hollow. Who'd have ever thought that they would be the ones to keep him sane for a night?

Rory was opening the takeout boxes so Jess set the plates on the table and went back for silverware they could dish up with. Admittedly, it was a lot of food. But when he was deep into drafting a book it was nice to have food around that he could just reheat, or eat straight out of the fridge. Also, Rory was there. The fact of her presence and the fact that she loved Chinese food were more than enough justification for him to splurge. She would've brushed it off if he ever dared admit it aloud, but he still felt like he owed her. They'd both hurt each other over the years, sure, but he'd done it the most. He couldn't forget that.

"Something to drink?" Jess said, already moving to the fridge. "Soda, water, beer?"

"Whatever you're having's fine," she said.

Normally he might've grabbed a beer, but he walked back to the table with two sodas in hand instead.

By the time that they started to actually eat, sitting across from each other with the sea of take-out boxes spanning the distance between them, Jess had gotten lost in the haze of his thoughts again. There was so much to consider in approaching her, what he could say and what he could do and what might happen if he made even the slightest misstep. This situation demanded care. It wasn't because she couldn't handle him doing something wrong, as if she were too fragile or whatever bullshit someone else might believe—she'd made it clear long ago that she was twice as tough as he was when it came down to it. He just didn't want to fuck this up. Having her as a friend was better than nothing, even if it were complicated as hell. The balance they'd spent years working toward still felt so precarious, and Jess was determined not to be the one who threw it off.

"How's everything going with Truncheon?" Rory asked, her chopsticks poised above her plate.

"Pretty good, actually," Jess said. He sent a silent thank you across the table for the question, a lifeline that pulled him out from the maze of their past. "We opened the storefront here last month and it's already getting decent foot traffic."

"I'm sorry I couldn't come to the opening, I wanted to but I had to cover a rally for work."

Jess waved off the apology. "Don't worry about it, practically a repeat of the open house back in Philly, you didn't miss out on anything new."

Rory ate a piece of orange chicken rather than responding, her eyes trained on her plate.

The realization landed like a punch to the gut. Herein laid the benefit of that maze, it kept him from racing forward too quickly and saying stupid things, bringing up bad memories. Memories like that first opening, the last time they'd kissed, the last time he'd felt that jump of hope that maybe they'd finally figure it out. That time she'd wanted to use him.

"Luke and Lorelai came by, you know," he pressed on. If they didn't move past this awkward, tip-toeing he might as well go stand out in the storm—it'd be about as enjoyable.

Rory nodded, "Mom mentioned something about somebody singing gibberish for twenty minutes?"

Jess winced. "Yeah, nobody would claim responsibility for that booking and we couldn't figure out a way to get him off the stage without making a scene. He had supporters in the audience." Specifically, he'd had a few gaudily dressed friends who stared daggers at him and the other guys any time they got near the stage. They figured the bad singing would make a better story for their guests than whatever sort of fight might happen if they intervened.

"Did you ever figure out what he was trying to do?"

"The term 'vocal tone poem' got tossed around, as if that's a thing."

She winced, although her lips tipped up in a smile. "That reminds me of some of the things I had to cover for the paper at Yale. When you join the Daily Mail you have to spend some time writing reviews and it was the worst."

"Campus entertainment wasn't putting out their best and brightest?"

"Oh they were," Rory said, "just not at the performances I had to write about."

Later, Jess would feel a little sad that there were still new stories from almost eight years prior that she could tell him, that they'd gone that long without having this sort of easy and wandering conversation. In the moment, though, he just felt at peace. It was like all of their pieces had fallen back into place, words flowing between them so rapidly, so smoothly. Rory talked about Yale and he talked about other functions they'd done at Truncheon, they traded their various stories from moving around over recent years (he was surprised at how much of that she'd done, honestly). Neither of them talked about books, or movies, or music, or the other things that had drawn them together in the first place. Neither of them mentioned their love lives. They talked about work, just a little, what they'd been up to lately. He said that he was close to finishing a draft but she didn't press about the story. She said she would be happier with her work if she could just catch her breath and he didn't press about what that meant. The hum of their conversation filled the apartment in a way that nothing else had.

Eventually, when they were done eating but still occasionally picked at the food that was left lying between them, as if they needed an excuse to stay sitting there across from each other, Rory frowned a little. "What are you reading?"

Jess shoved down the urge to make a joke, sitting back in his chair. "Rereading, actually, _Sun Also Rises_."

He could see Rory make a face, even as she bit off the end of an eggroll.

"I know, I know," he said, relenting in part to get her to smile. (She did.) "But even you have to appreciate that moment when the narration snaps into Jake's reporter voice. That's actually the part I'm most interested in right now—research for this book."

"Why?"

"I'm trying to do something cool with narrative framing, you know with the main character being cognizant in their narration that they're reiterating a story. There's something about the perspective that I can't crack though, at least not how I want to."

He watched her face carefully to see how she reacted. He usually hated talking about his work like this while he was still in the middle of it, and still disliked it after it was done. These conversations could make anyone sound conceited. Even with everybody at Truncheon—even with Chris who was supposed to be his editor and whose job it was to have these conversations—talking about these nebulous ideas as if they were of so much importance kind of made him want to punch himself in the face.

She considered what he'd said for a moment, her head inclined. Mischief wasn't a word often ascribed to Rory, but it was in her eyes as she said, "Shouldn't you be reading _Gatsby_, then? I mean, especially if you're interested in that time period." He must've made a face, now, because she continued, "Don't dismiss it because it's too commonplace and overexposed, so is your Hemingway, but everything about the narration in that book points to Nick having a very clear audience and a very clear goal in telling that story. Even when you dig deeper all of those characters are constantly trying to frame themselves in specific ways. That's Gatsby's whole M.O."

"Fitzgerald was just so heavy handed—"

"I don't think Hemingway could've spelled 'subtle' if he tried."

Jess looked at her, and his mind flashed the image of them when they were teenagers, sitting at the lake in Stars Hollow, having a different version of this same conversation. Before he could get too wrapped up in that memory and all of the feelings that came with it, he relented. "I'll give it a look. At least it's short, right?"

"As if that's ever been a problem for you," Rory said. Jess could've sworn that she was blushing. A rush of pink skin stretched across her neck, stark in contrast to the cream colored sweater she'd changed into, as if she'd had the same flashback, or at least one to similar effect.

He cleared his throat and looked away.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I just started the new Zadie Smith on the train in yesterday."

"How is it?"

Rory sipped her drink and considered. "I'm not far enough in to really know yet, but I love how many things she tries to juggle at once. It sort of focuses on interrogating city life—I'm not sure if you'd like it more or less for that."

Jess smiled, "You live in a city now too, don't you?"

Rory shrugged, "Not the same kind. And besides, I just pass through, between flights and train rides and press conferences."

"They keep you that busy?"

"I'm not sure the last time I was there for more than a week straight."

That hung for a moment, Rory frowning down at the table. As much as Jess longed to push, to know what was really going on with her, he liked just talking too much to lose it now. "You said that it's her newest? Does that mean you're lugging a hardback around everywhere with you?"

"It's not that heavy."

"How many others do you have with you at the same time?"

She ignored the prod. "Besides, I'm already lugging a laptop with me, what's a book compared to that? I've got arm muscles believe it or not—"

"How could I forget about your Mr. Universe title?"

"—and most importantly a hardcover book will not get destroyed in luggage or as I'm constantly moving stuff in and out of my bag, including other, heavier things."

He grinned at her. "Don't tell me you've become one of those people who's so concerned with keeping their books in perfect condition."

"Not perfect, but I've had too many books with ripped covers and battered spines already."

"You are a condition snob!" He grinned at her and shook his head. "It's always the ones you least expect."

Rory grinned back, her elbow planted on the table as she leaned against her hand. "Oh I'm sorry, we can't all be the type to care so little for the condition of books that we just write in whatever ones we get our hands on, even if they're stolen from somebody else's bedroom."

Jess laughed, even as he felt something shift in the atmosphere at the table. He'd been actively avoiding their past and here she was bringing it up. Not just their past, their beginning. "I borrowed it."

"And added commentary, in pen no less."

"And I bet that there were some quality insights included."

"Yes, you are to other people's books what Banksy is to other people's buildings."

Rory laughed at her own joke and Jess wanted nothing more than to walk around the table and kiss her. They needed such a delicate balance, now. They'd missed it earlier, all standoffish and awkward, but now they'd swung so far past it in the opposite direction that Jess felt completely disoriented.

"For what it's worth," he said, "I think I'd at least ask before writing in your books now."

If Rory felt the same shift, she was better at hiding it. She smiled pleasantly and offered a simple, "Good to know," before picking at some fried rice that was left on her plate.

Dangerous as it might have been, Jess didn't want to leave this feeling yet. Lucky as he felt to have her as a friend, he'd still wanted more. Against his better judgment, he'd wanted for so long to be back in this place with her, where they could be honest and vulnerable and funny, where they didn't have to think so much about every little word and gesture. The thought of needing to be strategic around her for the rest of their lives felt like a cinderblock had landed in his stomach. He shouldn't have, god only knew how long ago she'd gotten over him and moved on, but he still wanted so much more. One push and the wanting might have spilled out of him.

"Rory?" he said.

**9:00 PM**

She forced herself to look him in the eye. It was so immature, that something as simple as her name on his tongue could make her feel this exposed, and yet here she was. "Yes?"

"What you were saying before, about needing to catch your breath, about all the travel. Are you happy with your work?"

"I'm mean, I'm not about to pull an _Office Space_."

Jess frowned. "There's a lot of room between committing arson and actually liking your job."

Rory wanted to make another joke, it was the gut reaction to this conversation, or at least it had been when her mom had skirted the topic, and each time her grandparents asked how things were going. Make a quip and assure everyone that things were fine, of course. Just fine. And in truth, that wasn't wrong. Fine served as an entirely accurate, albeit incomplete answer. This job was what she'd wanted for so long, what she'd worked for as long as she could remember. Reporting on things that mattered and the people who were responsible for making them happen. And there was the traveling, which she'd always longed for as well, even if it were mostly in the U.S. and all too often consisted of tedious back-and-forths amongst the same five cities.

She would have just told him that everything was fine, but the way he looked at her, with sad eyes and a tense jaw, a worried crease etched between his eyebrows, kept her from even trying that. Accurate but incomplete wouldn't cut it, not with Jess.

"Sometimes I love it," she said. "Sometimes I feel like I'm getting to do exactly what I wanted, that I've fulfilled every plan and am living exactly the life that I had pictured. Sometimes it's like I'm in this big, fully realized, romanticized dream of doing big important work covering big important things."

Jess inclined his head, his eyes still steadily on her, a gesture so plainly compassionate that it almost made her want to cry. "But other times?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Other times it's like nothing I write matters, like I'm never going to get the opportunity to do the exact kind of work I wanted. Or, I don't know, like what I thought I wanted isn't even an option to me."

"And the travel?"

Rory thought about how to answer that, because in all honestly she didn't really mind the traveling, just how listless it felt. Writing articles about the same things as fifty other reporters, publishing them almost simultaneously with nearly identical headlines because there was really only so much you could say about any given subject. It had become dull over the years. She still tried to be creative about it, to dig into the nooks and crannies that others overlooked, but you can't write what isn't there. And the travel.

"It feels like a needless complication half the time," she said.

They sat in silence for a minute, with nothing but the noise of the city and the lingering storm outside to fill the space. Rory looked down at the table, the mass of food still left because Gilmore or not she could only eat so much. She wished she could take it all back. The words she'd said echoed back in her ears and made her skin crawl. It all sounded so bratty and ungrateful. Here Jess was being so nice to her, letting her stay with no notice, buying her dinner, actually caring about what was happening in her life, and she just laid out her complaints like a greedy child listing what they wanted for Christmas.

"I'm just being dramatic." The words erupted without thought, propelled by a rush shame. "Like I said before, it's just been a long day.

"Rory—"

"What should I help with? Loading leftovers into the fridge or washing dishes?" She stood up, looking down at the table to avoid Jess's gaze. Even so, she could feel the weight of it as if it hung around her neck.

"I'll handle dishes," he finally said, standing up as well.

They cleaned up quickly. A small amount of pleasure came with the opportunity to look inside Jess's fridge in a way that wasn't blatant snooping. There wasn't anything interesting, in fact it looked an awful lot like hers did back in D.C., comprised mostly of beverages and take out, but there were also some vegetables she wouldn't have known what to do with. Still, pulling back the curtain like that satisfied a small amount of the itch that she had to tear apart the entire apartment. So many parts of Jess were off limits for obvious reasons, but that didn't stop her from wanting to see all of him anyway. The edge of a cliff still tempts people towards it so long as the view looks good enough.

When the food was stowed away a mix of sauce packets, unused napkins, and fortune cookies still lay waiting on the table. Rory scooped up the fortune cookies, all six of them (because that was indeed enough food for half a dozen people), and walked back towards Jess. He was leaning against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Not to say I told you so or anything," she said, holding the cookies out toward him.

"Yeah, yeah," Jess said. He shook his head and picked one up, the cellophane crinkling loudly in his hand.

He worked it open and Rory selected her own, laying the rest on the counter beside them.

"What'd you get?"

Jess rolled his eyes down at the thin slip of paper, "'Today it's up to you to create the peacefulness you long for.'"

"That's a nice one," Rory said, cracking her fortune cookie open.

"Pretty short time period it's giving me to create peace."

"Guess you better get to work," Rory said, smiling at him. She was glad they were back to jokes, to talking about nothing. It felt so much safer, so much easier. It was like they'd put some distance back between themselves, keeping each other safe from the potential wreckage of an emotional collision. The wanting faded into the background like this, candles flickering in place of a forest fire.

He smiled back, but something about it looked off to her. Before she could even think about that, though, he nodded down at her hands. "And you?"

She worked the paper free from the broken pieces of cookie. "'Now,'" she began, but stopped as she looked at the rest of it. She cleared her throat, hoping that her hesitation wouldn't be obvious. "'Now is the time to be candid and aboveboard in all things.'"

"Hmm," Jess said. "That's somehow direct and ambiguous at the same time."

Rory crumpled the paper in her hand and took a bite of the bland cookie, trying to appear casual. "It's definitely a weird one."

"You think it's _Freaky Friday _weird?"

Rory laughed, "Let's hope not, I've got a lot going on tomorrow."

Jess touched his chest, "Hey, I could write a stellar article as long as I had the notes I know you've already written."

"Maybe," Rory said, "but I know nothing about publishing or writing novels so it'd still be a net loss by the end of the day."

"You could swing it."

"I don't think so." The words came out with a laugh as Rory tried to keep this exchange light and buoyant. That's how people usually did this, wasn't it? Old friends, exes from high school, thrown together under whatever circumstances and trying to make it work. Happy and lighthearted seemed to be the only way something like this could ever work. But it was hard, with Jess looking at her so unwaveringly.

She almost spoke again but before she could he frowned and looked down at his own fortune. The paper looked so small in his hands, inconsequential, but Jess held it with much more care than Rory ever would have expected. She wanted so badly to make a joke except she couldn't bring herself to disrupt whatever thought process had overtaken him. His dark eyes looked unfocused, like he was seeing something far away from this unlikely scene in which they'd found themselves. Rory thought about those days when they'd dated, when she was so often filled with heady desires to connect with him any way she could. Back then, in a similar situation, she would have reached out to run her fingers over the downturned corner of his mouth, she would have pushed and questioned. Despite the fact that he had been so hesitant and it would only make him want to run she would have attempted to pry her way inside. Time and reflection had opened her eyes to how counterproductive following those impulses had been. She still wanted to do that first part, though.

"You've gotta stop selling yourself short," he finally said, his gaze settling on her again.

Rory just nodded. She didn't know what else to do, and didn't trust her voice to speak.

It was ridiculous, but something about the way he looked at her, the way he'd been looking at her all night, made her feel exposed. Jess had always been able to read her, and that coupled with the plainness of his care would always make their interactions carry a level of vulnerability that Rory didn't know how to handle. Trying to remain friends, just friends, with Jess always sounded great until she came face to face with what that meant giving up. And he wasn't helping at all anymore.

"So," Rory said, moving around Jess to throw out the remnants of her fortune cookie, along with that stupid fortune. "I should get some work done before I crash."

"Sure," Jess said behind her. His voice came out quieter when he asked, "When do you have to head out in the morning?"

She wished she could keep not looking at him—this was easier without eye contact. She turned back around. "To avoid any issues at the airport? Probably about five. I'm really just looking to get a nap in here before slipping out and then sleeping on the plane."

"You can do that?" Jess asked, his face drawn up in genuine surprise.

Rory nodded. "I don't know how I'd survive if I couldn't."

"Color me impressed," he said.

"Are you not a good flyer?"

"I don't exactly have the practice you do."

"Looks like we found your weak link in our _Freaky Friday _situation."

"Guess you better get to work, then, that way I have less to do."

Rory laughed. "Do you mind if I commandeer your couch before crashing on it?"

Jess shook his head. "It's yours, as long as you want it."

**10:00 PM**

The words wouldn't come. Maybe it was his overall dissatisfaction with his recent work on this project, maybe it was the fact that he never wrote around other people, at least not other people who he knew, but Jess couldn't get anything down on the page.

With Rory working in the living room he had figured that working on his book would make for a good distraction, or at least a productive one. And maybe it would've been if he were in a better place with the project. Instead, he'd spent almost an hour staring at the various blank papers on his desk. The legal pad on which he scratched out his first goes at passages, the notebook he used to chronicle ideas large and small, the paper loaded into his typewriter for when he added something to the manuscript for real. He didn't touch any of it.

Rather than come up with anything to add to his work, his mind hung on her presence behind him. It was a sort of torturous game, forcing himself not to turn around even as he heard the soft clicking of her laptop's keyboard and could imagine her fingers dancing across it. He could still picture the look she had always worn when she focused on her work, her narrowed eyes and the slight pursing of her lips. The temptation to see if she still wore that same expression almost raised him out of his chair. However the force of preemptive shame at how obvious and desperate walking over to see her face would seem kept him seated.

He'd crossed the line before, tipped the balance. And while he sank into the exalted, messy result, Rory had walked them back. He needed to respect that. As much as he wanted it, wanted her, she clearly felt differently. If the choice was between this tedious balance or nothing at all, he'd always choose the former. He couldn't lose her again—not completely, not for good.

So he stared at the wall above his desk. A messy bulletin board hung there, still plastered with reminders and notes that were long outdated, and a second layer of ones that were more recent. He tried to focus on them, especially the ones that pertained to the draft he was ostensibly working on at that moment. But his mind strayed. It strayed to the bathroom on the other side of the wall, where he'd seen her wet clothes hung on the shower rod to dry. It went to the kitchen, the stretch of counter he saw out of the corner of his eye, where he had just held himself back from pulling her against him. It strayed to his bed behind him, which he'd been foolish enough to imagine holding her in. That daydream had only lasted for a moment when he'd hung up the phone from talking to her. He wanted her so much it could make him delirious, but he wasn't delusional.

He picked up his pen, tapping it against the legal pad a few times before jotting down, "_He crossed the room._" He stared at those four words for just a moment before sighing and scribbling over them.

"Not going well?"

Jess jumped at her sudden nearness. That was what he got for finally tearing his focus away from the sound of her work. What a twisted reward. "Not exactly," he answered.

If Rory had seen any evidence of his unease she didn't let it show. "This is quite the set-up," she said, nodding down at his desk, all of those still empty vessels for his writing.

"I've tried writing on my computer," he said, suddenly aware of how try-hard and pretentious this all must have looked, "it just doesn't work for me." He laughed in spite of himself before adding, "I get distracted too easily."

She nodded, smiling down at him, her face free of judgment so far as he could tell. "It just confirms that you're a serious writer. You don't work out a set-up like this without having something to say. It's very authorly," she said.

"I don't think that's a word."

"You know what I mean, Jess."

He did. It was a nice thing to say, too. She didn't need to aggrandize him or his work, he was painfully aware of how little impact he made in the literary world and the world at large. Yet she'd still said it. The fact of her belief in him had always been surprising, but the unwavering quality of it left him thoroughly floored. "I do," he finally said. "Thank you."

Rory nodded at him, a tight smile on her face. She looked down over his desk again, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. The smile disappeared. "Sorry I barged in over here," she said, not meeting his eyes. "I just finished what I was working on and," she shrugged, "I was curious."

Jess started to respond, to apologize that he didn't have more to show her, but she kept talking before he could.

"I should probably get to bed soon anyway. No guarantees that I'll sleep on my flight tomorrow, after all. I mean I could end up pinned between crying babies for all I know, so—"

"Do you want a drink?"

She looked at him, then, head inclined, ready to turn him down.

"Just a nightcap, before you go to sleep." He gestured at the empty pages before him, "I'm clearly not getting anything done tonight, anyway."

Her silence made his stomach roll. Here he went again, pushing, edging them closer to dangerous territory. It wasn't even on purpose, this time. Not entirely. But the sooner she went to sleep the sooner his time with her would be over, and who knew when they'd be alone together again? If that would ever happen again at all? He just wanted to put off the inevitable, extend the night just a little while longer. And of all the things he could've said to attempt that, drinking was what came out. He wouldn't blame her for turning him down. And yet—

"Okay."

"Okay?"

She nodded, her shoulders set back, arms loosely crossed. "Sure. Why not, right?"

There were plenty of reasons why not, and Jess felt almost certain that they'd already been tallied on a list in Rory's mind. But she'd said yes, and he was desperate enough not to question it.

"I don't have a lot of options, I don't think," he said, walking over to the kitchen. The cabinet he kept liquor in held a lone bottle of whiskey. He pulled it down, turning to show Rory. "Make that, I only have one option. I could run down to the bodega or—"

"That's fine," she said.

He nodded, swallowing thickly before setting about getting glasses and ice.

Rory leaned against the counter and looked past his bedroom towards the windows. "Storm's died down," she said.

She was right. There hadn't been thunder for a while, and the raindrops fell quietly outside. Jess's mind had been too preoccupied with everything else to even notice before, but now that Rory pointed it out the absence of that sound seemed deafening. He dropped ice into the empty glasses, the clinking noise filling in some of the suddenly vacuous silence. "I guess they could've just postponed your flight, instead of canceling."

Rory bit her lip, her eyes tracking the movement of his hands as he poured their drinks. "I'm glad they didn't," she finally said, her voice soft.

He handed her a glass, their bodies as close as they'd been all night. "Me too."

Her eyes flicked down and she nodded towards the couch. "Let's sit down."

Jess followed her.

They settled into opposite sides of the couch, but Jess felt more off balance than he had standing up. Rory's eyes weren't leaving his face and his skin heated under her gaze. He'd suggested the nightcap, sure, but he was very much in the passenger seat now.

"I really do like your apartment, you know," Rory said, glancing around the place.

Jess was still glad she'd called when she did, giving him just enough time to throw his messes around to give an illusion or tidiness. He shrugged at her, "It's alright."

Rory smiled at him.

He sipped his drink.

She sipped hers.

"I hope the street noise won't keep you up tonight," he said, looking away from her face.

"I don't mind it."

He nodded. "Cool, cool. I just figured, you know, after growing up in Stars Hollow it'd be hard to get used to."

"You're forgetting that I also grew up next door to Babette and Morey," she laughed.

Jess looked back in time to see her still staring at him, before she quickly turned away. "That's a good point."

"Are you going to try to write some more tonight?" she asked. She swirled the liquid around in her glass before adding, "Maybe this'll help?"

"Seemed to do wonders for most of the Western literary canon," he reasoned. His mouth felt dry as he watched her take a long sip.

Rory's tongue darted out to wipe across her lip. She laughed softly. "'Write drunk, edit sober?'"

"You know how I feel about Hemingway."

Immediately she rolled her eyes, but afterwards she also laughed again and left her gaze on him, her expression radiating warmth. "Just don't go all Jack Torrance."

Jess shook his head. "I won't," he said, then continued, "Guess you can't follow the same idea. Being buzzed while writing serious journalism is probably counterproductive."

"Excuse me, I can handle my liquor, thank you very much."

"Well I'm sorry, Don Draper, I didn't realize."

Rory lifted her chin. "There's a lot you still don't know about me."

Jess smiled at her, but turned away before saying, "We should fix that, one day."

"Why not now?"

Jess looked down into his drink, not daring to see what sort of look she was giving. There were really only two options, a double-edged blade that, should he turn to find out which side faced him, would cut him instantly.

"Rory—"

"I'm serious. What do you want to know?"

A lot of things he could never say came to mind. _Do you ever wish we'd met later in life? Did you really love me? Could you again? _Even as he pushed those aside, though, he kept circling back to what they'd talked about earlier. "Ideally speaking, what do you wish your career looked like? What do you want to be doing that you're not right now?"

"Jess."

"You don't have to answer," he said. He bounced his leg. "I just, I need you to know that you can still be whatever you want. You're an amazing reporter."

Rory frowned at him, her head inclining. A lock of dark hair fell into her face as she did so and he wished so much that he could reach out to push it back into place. He kept talking instead.

"What? You think I haven't read your stuff? You can write circles around anybody—in fact it'd be a shame if you stopped writing, but if Christiane Amanpour is still the goal you could do that, and you'd be damn good at it too. You want to go down the investigative route? You can! Nobody gets research done like you, it was true when we were in high school and I'd bet money it's still true now."

She shook her head, eyes wide. "It's not that easy."

"I know it's not easy, but I also know you. Once you find work that you're passionate about, work that makes you excited, nothing's going to be able to stop you from getting it done, nothing but you not believing in yourself. And as soon as you figure out what that work is any magazine or newspaper would be lucky to hire you. Hell, write a long enough article and we'd publish it as a book."

Rory stared at him. She didn't say anything, didn't respond, just looked at him with an expression he couldn't read, her lips slightly parted and her hair still in her face. Jess didn't know when he'd started to lean his body towards hers, but he suddenly realized how close they'd become when she reached out to take his glass from his hand. He inhaled, the noise embarrassingly sharp in his otherwise quiet apartment, but she didn't react to it. Instead she just leaned away to place both of their drinks on his coffee table, before settling back into her spot, their bodies just as near to each other as before.

"Anything else?" she asked, her face so close he could feel her breath on his cheek.

"I believe in you, Rory, and anybody who doesn't just doesn't know you well enough."

He'd barely finished speaking before she kissed him.

**11:00 PM**

Kissing Jess felt like it always had, simultaneously thrilling and like the most natural thing in the world. Rory had never understood how those two sensations could coexist so seamlessly, and yet here they were again, thrumming through her veins as Jess's lips teased hers. She opened her mouth to him, deepening the kiss before any doubt could creep in, not that much was left after everything he'd just said to her, after the way he'd looked at her. She shouldn't have worried, as soon as his hot breath mixed with hers all logic and reason abandoned her. This was dangerously like being a teenager again.

She shifted closer, moving to her knees on the couch cushion to do so. This new position made her taller than him and Jess moved his mouth down to her neck to accommodate the change. A gasp escaped Rory's mouth and her fingers found his hair as his hands landed on her hips. Jess sighed against her skin, pulling her body still closer until she could settle half on top of him. They kissed again, long and deep, and it left Rory trying to catch her breath. She pulled back to gain it, but still planted intermittent kisses along his jaw as she did so. The scruff was a new and very interesting addition to this otherwise familiar equation. So was the knowledge that no one would walk in on them and disrupt this. And with that thought, the heavy reality of what she'd started settled squarely into Rory's bones.

"Come back here," Jess said, breathing hard as he tried to get his lips back to hers.

"Wait," Rory said. She pressed her hand against Jess's chest and closed her eyes.

His hands left her body. In the resulting quiet all Rory heard was their breathing, all she felt was his heart pounding under her palm.

"What's wrong?" Jess asked.

Rory shook her head, pulling her hand back from him.

"You—?" he started, but then cut off suddenly.

She looked at him finally, and the deep frown and his sad eyes made her regret her hesitancy all the more.

He shook his head, just a little, and said, "You're not with anybody, right?"

Rory's stomach twisted. She resented her younger self for so many reasons, but the fact that he'd have to ask her that was at the top of the list. "No, no Jess. I wouldn't do that to you again, I'm still so sorry it ever happened like that."

Jess let out a breath and nodded. "Okay, it's okay, I just," he looked at her, that worried crease back between his eyebrows, "What's wrong then?"

"What are we doing?" she asked. "I mean, are we just gonna hook up for one night and then go back to how we've been?"

"That's not what I want," Jess said.

"What _do_ you want?"

"I think you know." He frowned at her. "I think I've been pretty upfront with my feelings for you the entire time we've known each other, more than you have at least."

Rory flinched.

"I'm sorry," Jess said immediately. "I shouldn't have said that."

"It's fine." She shrugged. "It's true."

He took her hand in his. "I want to be with you Rory. I want another shot at us, I have for years."

"It won't work," she said. Her throat felt tight. She should have regretted kissing him, should have felt bad for throwing everything so off balance between them, but it'd been so good and felt so right. But still. "We don't exactly have a great track record."

"Who cares about that?" He shook his head at her. "We were kids!"

"And the whole world was against us."

"But that's not our whole world anymore," he said. He squeezed her hand. "Come on, Rory. A fresh start, a blank page, just for us."

"You say that like it's simple."

"It could be."

"It won't."

Jess kissed her again, a chaste pressing of their lips that felt all the more intimate for its ease. He dropped her hand so that both of his could cup her face, thumbs stroking down her jaw. He pulled back to look her in the eye. "Feels pretty simple."

Rory frowned and Jess pouted, an exaggerated expression looking to provoke a response from her. She shook her head and reached out to run her thumb over his lower lip. "Maybe this could be," she admitted. "Just us, here, alone. But out there? In real life? That will never be simple and that's always been the problem."

"My apartment is pretty real life for me."

"_Jess_."

"I know," he said. His fingers threaded through her hair, cupping the back of her head. "But we're older, I finally got my head out of my ass—"

"I wouldn't say finally, you managed that awhile ago."

"—and you're as free as you've ever been to have what you want, to go after everything you can dream of."

She pressed her forehead against his, closing her eyes tight.

"Do you want this?" Jess asked, his mouth so close to hers.

"Yes," she said. "But what if that's not enough?"

"I think it's worth it to find out, for real this time."

They kissed again. Rory shifted forward pressing her body against his. She'd wanted this, wanted him, for so long. How could she bail on this chance when he was so willing to take the risk? Happy to, even?

He broke away this time. "Are we doing this?"

She wanted to so badly, but the lists were compiling in her head. And while there were numerous pros, mostly the possible fulfillment of her own long held desires, there were also so many problems to think about. "We live in different cities," she said. "We have completely separate lives. We'd have to tell Luke and my mom and my grandparents."

"We'd have time to figure all that out," he said. "We could take it slow."

Rory ran her hand down his face and he leaned into her touch. "I don't think that's really our speed."

He laughed softly.

"But I'd rather try than keep wondering," she said.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

Rory took a deep breath, the air coming more easily than it had all night. Yes, this was a risk, but so was everything else. She was tired of not pursing the things she wanted because of fear. Jess was right in front of her, offering his heart. She'd be a fool not to take it.

He grinned at her, broad and toothy. "You know, there's one thing I think we've already got figured out."

"What's that?"

He kissed her. She kissed back. And all too soon Rory pulled away.

"Since we're taking time to figure things out anyway," she said, "I should really get to bed."

"Okay."

"I'm sleeping on the couch still."

"Alright."

"I'm gonna kiss you one more time, though."

"I can work with that."

She pulled Jess's body close to hers again, her hand tangled in his thick hair. When their lips met this time, they were both smiling.

**12:00 PM**

Jess lay in bed. Even as a yawn overtook him, he wasn't sure that sleep would be possible that night. His whole body felt awake, charged with energy he didn't have any use for. Still, he smiled to himself. The girl he loved was in the same place as him, she was willing to give it another try, to be with him. He'd kissed her again. After all of those years of wanting he'd felt her lips on his. There was still so much to figure out, but he was more hopeful than ever that they'd get it right.

**1:00 AM**

Rory slept.

**2:00 AM**

Jess slept.

**3:00 AM**

Rory woke with a start. The storm had started up again with a vengeance, thunder roaring outside. She made her way to the bathroom by the slight glow of ambient light that peeked through Jess's blinds.

When she was done in the bathroom, Rory walked out to see Jess sprawled across his bed. He lay on his stomach, the side of his face pressed into his pillows. The blankets had been thrown down around his waist. The couch felt so far away, suddenly.

She laid down next to him, pulling the blankets up to cover them both. Jess stirred slightly, smiling lazily at her when he cracked his eyes open.

"Is this okay?" she asked.

He hummed his assent, throwing his arm across her waist.

Rory fell asleep again in no time.

**4:00 AM**

Jess pulled Rory's body even closer to his, comforted by the warmth they shared.

They both slept.

**5:00 AM**

"Rory?"

She opened her eyes.

Jess stood by the bed, a mug in his hand held out in offer to her. "Coffee?"

She sat up, taking the cup in both of her hands and drinking in some of its warmth before answering. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

It wasn't just coffee. He'd already started making a breakfast too, bacon sizzling away on his stove. She got ready while he cooked. Tucked away in the bathroom she pulled her clothes from the day before down from the shower rod, stowing them away in her suitcase. She dressed for the day before her, all the while dreading it. The night before seemed like such a dream, one she somehow still lingered in. She was scared of how it would feel for reality to come crashing back down on her.

They ate at the table, across from each other again.

"You didn't have to do all this," Rory said, looking down at her full plate of eggs and bacon, toast and fried potatoes.

Jess shrugged. "I don't mind."

She reached out with her free hand, and he clasped it with his own.

"I wish we could just stay here," she said.

"Me too."

But not long later they left the apartment, donning their coats. The stairwell was twice as loud with both of their footsteps, but the journey was made more pleasant by Jess carrying her suitcase and the feel of his hand on the small of her back.

They hailed a cab, and after Jess had deposited the suitcase in the trunk, they stood together by the rear passenger door. The cold air swirled around them, just a slight drizzle remaining from the storm. Rory's stomach sank.

They kissed, long and slow. When they parted, Jess opened his mouth to speak. She knew what was coming, but after all it took for them to get back to this place, Rory wasn't sure she could stand to hear "goodbye."

"Don't say it," she told him, pulling back far enough to look in his eyes.

A small smile, sad enough that she wanted to kiss it away, appeared on his face. "You've gotten mad at me for that before," he said.

"I know." Her fingers tightened their grip on the thick material of his coat. "But we always find out way back to each other when we don't say it."

"We seem to find our way back to each other regardless." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "But if that's what you want I won't argue."

They stared at each other, hot breath mixing in the small space between their faces, visible in morning air. "I want us to see each other soon, no ambiguity," she said.

"Name a time and place and I will be there for you."

She nodded. "I'll call you when I land."

"Okay."

She got into cab.

"I told you we could do this," Jess said, grinning at her again before shutting the door.

And as the cab pulled away, and Rory watched Jess watching her through the rear window, she hoped with all her heart that he'd be right.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! This was supposed to be a quick one shot but it got away from me and kind of became a monster lol. Any comments or constructive critiques are always welcome! _Gilmore Girls_ has been my favorite show for over a decade but this is my first time writing any fanfiction for it so posting this is a little nerve-wracking if I'm honest. Hopefully you enjoyed! Have a wonderful day!


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